Monday

La Mer (discourse with JK) maybe Part 1

"SEA."


                                                 
                                                     Oh Sea. Mother to us all, monster to us all, mother to us monsters, Sea of Hollow Ness, who threw us up from her wound to become monsters to our mothers -up from her womb, ejaculated monsters- the tomb in which all Fathers lie, die and are buried, and all Boys after them, Sea of Million Sons, dead and swallowed and eyes wide open in terror of love, in search of terror, in search of love, watery graves and hair floating halo-like, eel-like, around severed heads like crowns of seaweed - calcifying eyes and thighs lean and bellies white as foam
-you hate yourself, you, the voices around you, the sun makes you sick, leaves awkward stains on your back, burns marks, you and your sickened words, you and your sickening words in which you drown, dive, drown, dragged with chains around your throat where words come from, words glaring like the sickening sun, cancerous sun and cancerous throat, clouds descend and bury them, bury you, some body buried in your body, your body buried inside you and that smell and that noise which dust your fears and dreams until you're nothing but disgust and wave of nausea, wave of mental vomit, a rock and a carcass rotting underneath that rock, you are slowly decaying under the weight of yourself and of the stinking sun, please clouds, please rain, never let me go, never leave me ever again; please clouds, please rain, don't let me go mad again-  




"...a watery cross, with weeds
entwined -- "


                        mortal needs and mortal obsessions of death, you with your hands submerged in blood kneeling by your mother, the monster of all mothers, waves laced with green blue blood yellow, hoping it will be yours, own it, but it floats away, it washes away, no traces, no stains, the desirable stains of blood and the derangement of the senses which comes with poisonous thought behind closed eyes and oozing between sweaty thighs
-where you, once, twisted and buried your hand, once, in a dark theatre, struggling against those tight-lipped thighs until they gave in and allowed you to crawl down between zipper and jeans and underwear, and guilty heart of no more than sixteen thudding underneath the trembling belly and against your ear, sweat and desire everywhere coming from every pore-

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